


You'll Be The Death Of Me

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Anger, Blow Jobs, Confusion, First Kiss, First Time, Lust, M/M, Marking, Neck Kissing, Secret Relationship, Smoking, Vodka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 08:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19764859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: "I'm... not sure what I want," Boris admitted as he watched Valery take a drag on his cigarette, the younger man basking in the sensation of it, inhaling the nicotine and exhaling what was left, the substance clearly calming him. "I haven't been sure of anything since I stepped into this godforsaken shithole," he told him, trailing loving fingers over the nape of his neck, tracing where he had left his mark, as if to say sorry for hurting him - and sorry for everything else.Boris lashes out when Valery kisses him, but only because he's so afraid of what it means.





	You'll Be The Death Of Me

_Too much._ It was all _too much._ They'd had too much vodka over the course of the evening. That wasn't surprising. Too many empty bottles stood idly in the corner of the room, and too many cigarettes stubbed out in the ashtray, from too many nights trapped in this dangerous hell - Pripyat. Too many times had he held his head in his hands, exasperated by failure, taken off his glasses, wiped his brow with the back of his hand. And the information he'd bombarded Boris with had been too much for the older man to take - that _yes_ \- they too would die from radiation poisoning in a couple of years. For the first time, there were too _few_ \- too few words between the two men tonight. What was there even to _say_ , when all was said and done?

There was too much _sunlight_ streaming through the curtains and too many birds singing away in the trees, still unaware that they would soon be dropping dead from their branches - the pair had been awake for hours, and now it was morning. They were sitting on the window-ledge, their backsides planted six inches apart from one another - Boris gazing into the middle-distance, watching the smoke from his cigarette spiral and dissipate into the ether; Valery simply _watching_ Boris, and _weakening_ inside as the light caught one half of the deputy chairman's face, picking out his attractive, pensive features - a man he'd come to admire and love. With his strength and unwavering determination, Boris was a doer and not a thinker - a leader, not a pointless, waffling egghead like himself. Boris was simply the man Valery _wished_ he was.

It was all _too much_ for Legasov. He could never _be_ like Shcherbina... but what about just a little _taste_ of his dogged spirit, Valery had to wonder, as he gawped at him longingly. "Boris," he uttered, quietly, innocuously, and the silver-haired man turned to him, eyes gently widening in response like a camera's aperture adjusting to the light. They could do nothing but fly open further when Valery's hand slid around his pale, drawn face, cupping his jaw within his fingers, bringing him in for a kiss. "Mmm," the nuclear physicist groaned, too _loudly_ , against his mouth, as his free hand roamed the taut trouser fabric stretched across his partner's lap. Chapped, cracked tobacco-flavoured lips, moistened only by the alcohol, maintained contact for only a few seconds before Boris forcefully pushed him back into the window.

"What in God's name are you doing?" Shcherbina spluttered, keeping him at arm's length. "Do you want everyone to hear?" he signalled to all four corners of the room, pointing to all of the potential bugs that the KGB had rigged in their suite. "Do you want _everyone_ to know what kind of man you are?" he said it as if he was intending to blackmail him - as if he would expose him for his homosexual behaviour - but, thankfully, the conversation took a slightly different turn: "Do you want them to know that you're the kind of man to prey on his comrade's feelings at a time like this?" he went on, a look of turmoil befalling his expression. He suddenly lost control of himself, began to nip at Legasov's neck with his teeth, sucking fervently, creating obvious spots of red which would go on to bruise, "Well now they _will_ \- they'll _all_ know."

Boris shoved the devastated man from off of him, barged past him with his shoulder and stormed into the bathroom, not slamming the door behind him but pulling it to slightly, so that he could be alone with his thoughts. It had creaked harshly, greater in volume than any sound, word or sentence shared between the two gentlemen all night. He'd wanted to piss, given the many shots of vodka they had drank, but circumstances had left him too hard to manage that very easily. Instead, he splashed water to his cheeks, pinched himself frustratedly at the temples and sighed as he stared into the mirror. When they'd initially approached the crumbling Chernobyl plant in the helicopter, Shcherbina had berated Legasov for using his name - now it was all he could hear from his friend's voice, over and over: "Boris... Boris, I'm sorry..."

He shouldn't have been so rough with his Valera but, at the same time, he didn't want to admit to _himself_ that he was so turned on by the thought of marking him and indeed letting _everyone_ know that the bespectacled little boffin was _his_. It was a risky game though, and they could both be sure of that. Having seen the sores and burns left behind on plant workers' skin in the aftermath of the incident, Boris quickly found an excuse they could use for the branding he'd stamped on Valery's neck, knowing that they could blame it on the radiation and no-one would be any the wiser - who would question their expertise anyway? As if anyone ever questioned anything at _all_ in the Soviet Union. But, speaking of questions, the one ask on Shcherbina's lips was: _why_ , Valery?

Why would he try to kiss him at a time like this, when things were already complicated enough? How could he _think_ of kissing Boris when the end of the world as they knew it was possibly nigh - when the exploded reactor core was melting down through the ground, threatening to contaminate the water beneath, spreading to the Dnieper river and eventually the sea? It was then that it dawned on him. He realised that the end of the world being possibly nigh _was_ the reason why: only now could Legasov find the courage to do something so bold, in an entire life led in nervousness and worry. Valery was breaking free from his chains, and it was Boris who should apologise - for being so boorish and for being so _Boris_.

He silently exited the bathroom and approached Legasov, who was still trembling and couldn't quite meet with his eyes. Shcherbina placed his hands upon his colleague's shoulders and urged him to face him. When Valery finally dared to glance upwards, Boris tried to speak: he placed his teeth against his bottom lip. He was poised to say "Valera" and his hand moved up from Valery's shoulder to his collarbone, exposed with his collar open and a tie askew - but it merely came out as a curse: "Fuck," he growled, reaching down to his leather belt and wildly fumbling. It sprang open, a zipper sound following, and, with a nod downwards, he soon had the scientist scrambling to his knees, hungrily taking the large erection in his mouth, devouring every inch of its length, saliva dribbling.

Aware of whoever might be listening, it took all of Boris' self-restraint not to cry out with pleasure as Valery worked over his cock with his tongue, and the suction he created with his mouth. And, to boot, he was so damned _eager_. At one time, nothing would have been a greater thrill to the once power-mad Shcherbina than Legasov's current submissiveness - bossy and argumentative when it came to the seriousness of his work in the beginning, even challenging President Gorbachev - now completely unresisting and compliant, a lesser man _desperate_ to please his superior, practically _whimpering_ with every reassuring caress of his auburn hair. But Boris _wasn't_ that man anymore, and it had taken him _this_ long to realise it; he didn't need his ego stroking - he needed his hand holding, through this, like everyone else.

Boris bit down on his lip again, partly to stifle the noises he wanted to emit, but also - this time - finally managing to say what he wanted to; what he'd wanted to say to Valery for _days_ : "Valera... Please come..." he whispered, helping to guide the kneeling man up from the floor to stand before him. In this dim light, the pair of them were struggling to see properly - Boris often wondered how Valery managed to see _anything_ through those thick glasses (he certainly couldn't see very much _without_ them - that _was_ a fact) and now the spectacles were heavily fogged up with condensation - and Valery stumbled as he rose because of this, with Boris catching him in his arms, holding him close. He cradled him for a moment or so, without words.

"Is this not... what you wanted?" Legasov timidly queried, watching his choice of phrasing, knowing that they were undoubtedly being recorded on tape. Of course - he couldn't see the other man's reaction - that was until Shcherbina made a move to gently remove the misted-over glasses from the bridge of his nose. Valery hadn't even had the clarity of thought to complete such an easy task himself. And, now, what he saw before him was someone who was clearly confused, afraid, and who looked like they'd had their heart ripped out. It was difficult to tear his eyes away from the crestfallen Boris, who was fighting with himself to find the right words - to find words he could _use_ in his present environment - but Legasov was aching for a smoke. He placed the cig in his mouth and lit it.

"I'm... not sure _what_ I want," Boris admitted as he watched Valery take a drag on his cigarette, the younger man basking in the sensation of it, inhaling the nicotine and exhaling what was left, the substance clearly calming him. "I haven't been sure of anything since I stepped into this godforsaken shithole," he told him, trailing loving fingers over the nape of his neck, tracing where he had left his mark, as if to say sorry for hurting him - and sorry for everything else.

"You'll..." Legasov started, taking one final puff on the little white cylinder before squashing the butt in the heavy glass ashtray still sitting between them on the windowsill, "--You'll be the death of me, you know." And, in many ways, Shcherbina already _was_ \- after all, it was he who had brought Valery here in the first place - sealing their fates, shortening their lives and ensuring their imminent demise. The irony of the sentence wasn't lost on either of them, and they shared a small, fond smile. And Boris - albeit much later than he _should_ have and, deep down, he truly _knew_ that - kissed Valery back.


End file.
